


When the world falls apart, who's with you on the other side?

by weaslayyy



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-04-30 02:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5147249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weaslayyy/pseuds/weaslayyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jake Peralta and Rosa Diaz are friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. part one

About once a month, Jake and Rosa will have dinner on a Thursday. It’s a tradition that started while they were in the Academy together, when they were just that stone cold bitch Diaz and her scrawny motormouth shadow Jake Peralta.

Basically, there’ll come a point when one of them will crack. Rosa will get tired of terrifying everyone around her all the time, of the constant anger she can’t always control when faced with the blithering incompetence of the world. Jake will wake up one morning and feel the ache in his bones as he struggles to drag his body out of bed before rearranging his face over breakfast. One of them will pick up their phones and text the other a specific time.

The place? Wherever Jake’s living, usually. Once, his apartment building had termites and they ended up huddling over coffee and reheated Campbell’s tomato soup in the evidence lockup, right next to the orange sleeping bag he’d snuck in when he’d gotten the notice.

It wasn’t always like this: once in awhile it was drinks at a local bar, or fancy clothes at a bistro Rosa had never admitted to being curious about. Jake took her to the top of the Empire State building a couple years ago and they spent hours inside the silence between them, looking down at all their problems from their vantage point one thousand feet higher than usual. Rosa took him to the ballet.

Sometimes, it was more often. There were months at the Academy full of meatheads who couldn’t handle a badass Latina kicking their collective asses, which often left Rosa seeking out the company of one who could. The inside of Jake’s mind used to get so _loud_ , before he found the outlet of real police work, and the only real quiet he could find was on a bar stool, brushing his shoulder with Rosa’s as they each nursed a bottle of beer.

Sometimes they’d just find a place to sit, so they could breathe together for a moment.

It starts, as many things do, on a Thursday. Rosa and Jake, each of them just a little more than the others, each of them looking to the Force for some type of stability they hadn’t found in their own lives. It starts, with Jake Peralta: the kid with a grin too wide for his face sitting in the corner with his head cradled in his palms, a bottle of Smirnoff sitting untouched. Peralta, who sits next to her sometimes, who hasn’t (yet) called her mamacita. Who smiles when he says ‘good morning’ but doesn’t expect an answer, not unless she’s willing to give one. A decision. Rosa Diaz, who hasn’t had a friend in her life, walking down the row of tables and folding herself into the booth with him before taking a long swig of the vodka. He turns his head. She nods, moving her left elbow just enough to make contact with his arm.

About an hour later, he raises his head from the table and grabs the bottle she’s been working her way through, chugging half of what’s left in three gulps. She smiles a little and leans back, lazy with the liquor running through her veins as he runs his hand through his hair a couple times and stares at her. He’s confused, trying to figure out what she’s doing here in the corner with him, searching her face for some hint of a clue as to why she’s decided to drink his booze and voluntarily initiate physical contact.

It’s that confusion, the wrinkle on his forehead that tells her they’re going to be ok, the two of them. Rosa Diaz is used to demanding privacy and pushing away anyone who tries to invade her sense of self with their greedy fingers and overblown privilege. Jake can’t even figure out why she’s sitting next to him. She starts talking, stilted as she tries to say the words she usually shoves down into the depths of her stomach.

“The others....I just....they all think I’m some type of cheap whore...”

His forehead smooths out, and there’s a look in his eye, a type of intensity she didn’t think he’d be able to bring out. He slides the Smirnoff closer to her, nodding at her to continue. She swallows, face hardening as she glares at the vodka.

“None of them respect me, and if they do it’s because they’re afraid of what I’ll do to them.” Her face softens, a little. “You’re different.”

He looks at her like he’s waiting for her to say something else, but she just stares at the bottle some more, takes a sip and raises an eyebrow. He smiles, drawing a circle on the table with the bit of liquor that’s spilled out.

“Sometimes, it’s really hard for me to be....on, you know? Like I’ll wake up and everything will make me super tired, and I won’t remember why I want to even do anything at all. I try to make people laugh, and I mean I like doing it but just sometimes....I don’t know.” He laughs. “I’m not making much sense, am I?”

She looks at him.

“I get angry,” she says. “I’m always angry.”

He nods again, and moves in her direction, flicking his eyes towards her every time he dares to inch a little closer. She isn’t quite sure what he plans on doing: Rosa isn’t one for hugs and arms around shoulders, but she doesn’t know that she’d shrug him off if he tried. That’s what friends do, right?

He fits his right arm next to her left on the table, creating a seam between them as he twists the neck of the bottle with his free hand, twirling it for a moment before sighing. He moves his hand down, gripping the bottle near the middle. She places her own free hand near the top, where he had before. They look at the Smirnoff they’ve mostly finished together, their hands on the bottle they’ve been drinking out of between them. He snorts.

“I think,” he says,“that this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

She agrees, finishing off the bottle.

* * *

It’s been a year since they graduated, 18 months since they first joined the Academy. They’re both beat cops right now, going through the paces as they give out traffic tickets and yell at jaywalkers. Every Thursday they’ve gone out: drinking, dancing, roller derby, kick boxing. They take turns choosing what to do with all the pent up boredom and aggression they need to release, and some outings end up more successful than others. (For Jake. Rosa is mysteriously fantastic at almost everything she does, and she’s never going to tell him how.)

Jake’s used to hearing whispers about the two of them, disgusting comments about Rosa’s appearance and what the sex must be like. Rosa’s face always seems a little more set in stone on the days she picks him up at the front of the precinct, so he starts meeting her at the club and the kickboxing studio, even if it's a waste of gas he can’t afford. He can tell she appreciates it because she starts pulling her punches a little and avoids his face completely.

They’re definitely friends, and if anyone asked Jake would say that Rosa’s probably one of his best friends. Of course, she’d probably hit him, so he’s been exclusively referring to her as his leather clad godmother from hell, which seems to be a title she wears proudly.

Sometimes, he wonders what sex would be like between them, but it’s never been more of a passing thought, born of the knowledge that they’re both moderately attractive and probably decent in bed. He’s decided that it would probably be terrifying, and that he’s more than content to act as her dancing partner, punching bag, dinner date and sometimes pillow if that means he can try to make her laugh until the day he dies.

So it’s been awhile, and he thinks they’re in a good place. It’s always been easy for them, they each represent a type of safety that’s in short supply elsewhere. Rosa is still Jake’s quiet place, where he can make his smiles a little less frequent and a lot more sincere. Jake is still Rosa’s good place, where she can show her cracks more often because she isn’t angry all the time.

And then of course, Rosa’s abuela dies.

From what Jake can tell, Rosa’s abuela is one of the few people she truly cares about in the universe, someone she loves and lets love her publicly and unconditionally. Her passing was quick, but it was also unexpected: a cardiac arrest that couldn’t be prevented or paused. Rosa gets the call at around nine, texts Jake half an hour later saying that she’s sitting in a cab outside.

He can’t remember what excuse he made, probably muttered something about a family emergency before running out to the yellow cab he can see waiting. He gets in, takes one look at the tears steadily staining the lap of her uniform, and gives the driver his address. When they reach his building, he pays the guy and walks over to Rosa’s side of the cab, opening the door and placing a hand on her shoulder.

“We’re home,” he says in a tone he hopes is a little comforting. He isn’t quite sure what’s wrong yet, but Rosa Diaz is crying and he feels a little like the entire world is crumbling. “Let’s go up.”

She stares blankly for a moment, before nodding. She slides out of the cab like she’s forgotten how, all awkward movements that Jake tries to stabilize. He’s never touched her this much, at least not at anytime he can remember. They walk up to his apartment, and she stares at the ground while he fumbles with the key.

“You don’t have to do this,” she mutters. “I can just go home, and....I can go home.”

He ignores her, but crosses the threshold and holds his hand out for her to take, just in case she really doesn’t want to come in. They spend a moment, her staring at him while he keeps his hand out, only taking it when he starts to lower it back to his side. Her grip is tight, and he squeezes back as they walk into his apartment.

They sit on his couch together, knees knocking together as Jake tries to figure out how to ask Rosa what exactly is going on, and more importantly ask how he can help.

“My abuela is dead.” She leaves it at that, as if it explains everything, and it does. She took him to meet her abuela once, about a year after their first drink together. He hasn’t really seen Rosa like she was that night, looser even than she was on their Thursday's, soft smiles every once in awhile and Spanish interjected more and more as the evening passed. Abuela Maria is (was) tough as nails, and had a kiss for everyone in her family including, on that night, Jake Peralta. She understood Rosa, let her be surly and badass without forgetting that she could be loyal and sweet at the same time. Jake’s only met her the once, but he feels her loss keenly.

He puts his arm around Rosa, and holds her lightly for a couple of minutes. He has this feeling that’s telling him she needs this, so he throws every instinct he’s ever had about the care and keeping of Rosa Diaz out the window and leans back on his couch with his arm slowly rubbing her shoulder. She takes a couple stuttering breaths, and starts sobbing.

Jake’s heart is breaking as she turns in the circle of his arms, as she clings desperately to him while she chokes on her grief. He rocks her back and forth, whispering nothings into her hair that she would never let him say outside of this moment, everything he’s ever wanted to tell her and kept locked away. He tells her hair that she’s the strongest person he knows, the curve of her ear that she’s the kindest. He whispers to her cheekbone that she’s the best friend he has right now, that she’s his family and he’s so sorry she’s hurting. The sobs are coming from a broken place inside her chest now, and he can feel tears of his own coating her hair, burying themselves inside her curls.

They sit like that, crying together for hours before Rosa starts to become boneless. He shifts them so that they’re lying on his couch, curled up together. She immediately fits her head into the space between his neck and his shoulder, wrapping the fingers of her right hand over his hipbone. He nuzzles his nose against the top of her head, placing a gentle kiss to her forehead before they fall asleep.

A few hours later, Jake can feel Rosa fidgeting and he decides that he has to nip this in the bud, before she manages to erect her walls with him on the outside. Usually he respects her compulsion towards isolation, but her abuela is dead, and if it's anything like when his dad left he knows that she can’t really want to be alone.

There’s a small part of his brain that says he should maybe let her actual family do this, that maybe they know Rosa better than he and his 18 months. He ignores it.

“What do you want to eat?” She jumps, and he realizes that she hadn’t known he was awake. He apologizes, before adding some suggestions.  “I can make mac and cheese, chicken noodle soup, maybe some pasta with marinara?”

She looks away, and he moves into her new line of sight.

“I’m not joking Diaz, I’m starving. What do you want? Mac and cheese, soup, or pasta?” He lists the options on his fingers, waggling them in front of her face with his best (fakest) grin.

There’s a turn to her lips when she mutters mac and cheese, so he starts singing when he goes to the kitchen. She follows him, sitting on the countertop as he boils the pasta and stirs in the powder and milk with a flourish. He hands her the spoon to lick, making sure there’s a piece of pasta to accompany the residual sauce. She narrows her eyes, looking around his kitchen in search of something, rifling through his cabinets until she lifts the wooden spoon still in her left hand in triumph. She pulls out his hot sauce, shaking liberally over the spoon before closing her mouth over it, one piece of pasta and all.

She smiles, and he grabs two bowls to split the macaroni. They eat in silence, but this is a brief return to normalcy, more than anything. He washes the dishes when they’re done, waving her back in the direction of the couch while he snags a bottle of Smirnoff and some clothes for her to change into. He tosses the sweatpants and tshirt in her direction before trying to open the vodka bottle. Eventually he realizes that she’s just looking at him, blinking every few minutes. The sweatpants are on the floor, and half the t shirt is hanging off the side of the sofa.

“You should probably put that on if you’re staying.” Of course she’s staying. Even Jake knows that he shouldn’t send someone in her state home alone. If she doesn’t want to stay with him then he’s waiting until a family member picks her up, and she’s never going to spend a night like this with a member of her family, as much as she loves them.

He can see that she’s figured it out when her shoulders slump a little, and she asks where the bedroom is. He points it out and gets back to opening the vodka. She grabs it out of his hand, twists it and takes a long swig when she comes out, wearing his high school PE shirt and sweatpants, the only pair he could find with a drawstring.

He leaves her with the bottle before stripping his bed and grabbing all the pillows. He arranges most of the sheets and one pillow on the sofa, and puts one pillow and one sheet on the floor next to it. The blanket Gina sent him for Christmas is finally coming in handy, and he reminds himself to take a picture of how he’s using the unicorn patterned monstrosity to cover himself while he gives Rosa the comforter from his bed.

She’s staring again, and because she’s been doing it more than he would like he takes the bottle and takes a long swig, gulping twice. They drink well into the night, finishing off three bottles between them as Rosa punctuates the passing of the liquor with stories of her abuela, and how much she’d loved her, and how much she was going to miss her.

In the morning he makes her pancakes. A few days later she takes him to the funeral, even as she continues her stay on Jake’s couch, Jake sleeping on the floor beside her. They stop at her apartment on the way, and he does her eyeliner because of the way her hands are shaking. She grips his hand the whole service, eyes on the ground as she clenches her jaw. He rubs a thumb over the back of her hand, and makes sure she eats, answering questions from well meaning relatives with meaningless drivel about the job and how well it’s been going.

She stays for another week, wearing his clothes inside of the apartment and her uniform outside. She uses his shampoo, his soap and his extra stick of deodorant. She eats the food he cooks her, does laundry for the both of them when she realizes he probably won’t. And, when the following Monday comes along she’s gone before he wakes up, leaving breakfast from a local diner at his table and a pile of the clothes she’s worn on the couch, folded next to both sets of sheets.

She doesn’t text him on Thursday, and he doesn’t have the heart to force her into a meeting she doesn’t want. He waits, fills out some paperwork he’d let fall to the side, gives out a couple of warnings for parking violations.

Next Wednesday, she texts him. _Family dinner_ , it says. _7 pm_.

He goes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part one of three: part two will be posted soonish and it'll also feature two scenes, and i think part three will have one. part one is pre 99, part two is 99 but pre jake/amy and rosa/marcus. part three is after everyone is together and happy. Idk I just wanted to do a friendship fic with these two and I'm still hella procrastinating on college apps, so that's super duper.


	2. part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake and Rosa are friends, now with added Nine-Nine.

Jake makes detective at the Nine-Nine a year later, with Rosa following about six months after at the Six-Eight. Thursday nights have become a time to decompress after a week’s worth of stress: an evening of pajamas and movies and whatever Rosa buys for Jake to cook. They make their way through all the best cop movies, watch Die Hard a record breaking ten times before Rosa threatens to snap the special edition disk in half. Eventually, Jake brings his collection of Disney movies out from the shelf he’s hidden them in, starts talking about his childhood with Gina a little more as they watch Belle dancing with teapots.

Rosa starts bringing him nail polish once a month, and he does her nails with a surprising level of accuracy. He insists that she purchases a bottle of top coat, a nail file, a cuticle cutter so that he can do them properly. Once she shows up at a B&E and the shop clerk asks her who her manicurist is. When she tells Jake, he cuts a card out of printer paper and writes his phone number on it so that she can advertise his services at future crime scenes.

In addition to their Thursdays, Rosa takes Jake to all the family events she’s been skipping over the years. She’s pretty sure that she’ll stop attending when she officially gets over abuela’s death, but until then there’s this feeling she gets, a sense of guilt that came over her at the funeral when she realized how long it had been since she’d last seen so many of the people seated. So she texts Jake, and he puts on a nice sweater under his leather jacket to go have dinner with her family, or have cake at her niece’s birthday party.

Everyone thinks they’re dating: actually, they think they’re married. She hasn’t seen a reason to encourage or dissuade them, just stares blankly until whoever has gotten enough courage to confront her leaves the room. Jake thinks the whole thing is hilarious and is also a sucker for free food, so he smiles and directs all questions regarding marital status to Rosa.

She thought about it once, about how easy it would be to live with Jake for the rest of their lives. Rosa will never tell Jake, but she thinks a lot about the hours he spent holding her in his apartment that first day. There was a moment, about halfway in when she realized that she loved him, that she’d tell him if he ever asked.

She loves him because he never would.

So they’ve been making dinner every week, eating dinner at her parents’ place, drinking a lot of bad quality liquor and watching everything in their joint movie collections. They’re detectives, doing real police work and actually solving cases. They both get to wear leather jackets to work.

Then, Detective Diaz is offered a chance to transfer to the Nine-Nine. She accepts immediately.

It’s not that her precinct is bad: her coworkers tolerate her, and are too scared to make disparaging comments about her boobs or her skin. She can see herself sitting at her desk, making do with her coworkers as she remains a detective for the rest of her life.

But she can do better, and here on her desk is better. Jake is at the Nine-Nine, and there’s no way he would let anyone get away with the type of snide remarks she’s used to brushing off every evening.

He likes his coworkers, calls some guy named Boyle his “bestest friend ever!” and she knows Jake wouldn’t be friends with racist, sexist, pigs.

So she fills in the forms, plays nice for the interviews and comes into the Nine-Nine an hour early so that she can arrange her new desk before Jake walks in.

His jaw drops as does his coffee cup, and after a moment or two his smile cracks his face wide open. He runs up to her, arms rising to give her a hug before he stops, looking around at the bemused faces of his (their) coworkers and grabs her shoulder instead.

“Guys,” he says still gripping her shoulder, “this is Rosa, my badass leather godmother from hell.”

“Diaz” she corrects, nodding. It’s not like she’s going to let any of them call her Rosa, at least not yet.

And that’s how it is, easy for the most part, though it’s a little difficult for them to adjust to the other’s public persona.

Jake is exuberant at home, but he’s almost hyperactive when in a 20 foot radius of anyone else. He’s always fiddling with something, bouncing from conversation to prank to catching perps with a ridiculous amount of ease. Detective Peralta is too fast, too loud, too much for the confines of any four walls. She understands why he’s at his best in the field, how putting together a million clues could give him some form of order, an outlet for him to gain an ounce of peace. Rosa herself can tell that sometimes she shocks Jake with how blunt she is with other people, how thick and high her walls are for those who don’t have the key. She thinks he’s forgotten how angry she gets at incompetence, how destructive she becomes when things don’t go the way she knows they should.

They help each other, as much as two detectives can. They pair up sometimes, and Jake has started to keep a supply of shatterproof mugs she can throw at the ground without needing to clean up. Rosa involves herself in more of his shenanigans, helping him plan and execute childish pranks to let off steam and boredom. Together they’ve tasered melons, and used fire extinguishers as propellant more often than she ever thought could be possible. They have a secret handshake, and she learns how to do a lot of unnecessary acrobatics.

Thursdays become less necessary, now that they see each other everyday. They start meeting up every two weeks instead, binge watching television while discussing cases and workplace gossip. Rosa starts smiling a little more at work, and Jake sometimes manages to think before he speaks.

She starts talking to the other people at work, learns that Terry and Charles are good men, as well as good detectives. Charles Boyle is sweet: loves his wife, loves Jake and loves food in that order. He’s a little intimidated by her, but it’s endearing in a way. He’s simple and uncomplicated, gives high fives and slogs through his work. She likes him, as much as she’s ever liked a white man that wasn’t Jake. Terry Jeffords is the opposite: strong and brave, full of muscle and power in a way that usually sets Rosa on edge. Terry loves yogurt, and working out. He looks at Rosa in the eye, calls her Diaz and likes to talk about himself in the third person. She likes him, works with him, respects him in a way she doesn’t usually.

Rosa has a list she keeps in a notebook at home, a list of men and how many times they’ve said something offensive. Another list is for white people, a third is solely for white males. Charles and Terry each have sections marked off in their respective lists, but so far haven’t exceeded one or two instances she wouldn’t have even noticed at the Six-Eight.

Jake once had a section, but she crossed it out after a month, ripped the page out and threw it into the trash. He’s made mistakes over the years, but he catches them soon enough, and if he doesn’t she points it out and he apologizes. She doesn’t keep tabs on the people she loves, and so she forgives and forgets the things Jake says because she trusts him to fix his mistakes as soon as he knows he’s made them.

Rosa doesn’t think she’s ever made a decision half as good as transferring to the Nine-Nine. Maybe sitting next to Jake at the bar, but it’s close.

Things are better, she thinks one night on Jake’s couch. She sees him walk in with two bowls of soup hands one to her and takes a seat at her side. She turns on Aladdin, and smiles.

* * *

It’s three in the morning when Rosa marches into the precinct. Jake is somewhere in the 400s; he lost count at some point, but one of the cops on night shift has nothing better to do than count his reps. They’ve promised to call out the number every 50 pushups or so, and Jake’s decided to trust their judgement because it was either that or actually count 1000 pushups himself, on top of actually doing them.

He deserves this, he mutters under his breath. This is what he promised.

That’s how 1,000 Push Ups works: Jake and Rosa trust each other to make the right decision, and pay up if they don’t. 1,000 Push Ups removes all room for doubt, takes gut feelings out of the equation, supersedes all instinct but loyalty.

He’s tried to explain it before, to Terry and Charles and Amy, but he never gets it right when he puts it in words. It’s hard to convey how different Jake and Rosa are on paper, how similar they are in the most counterproductive ways. They’re stubborn and single minded, and very good at their jobs. They both gravitate to the lone wolf, push people to the sidelines in an effort to make sure that the job is done their way, done right.

This makes them excellent detectives but horrible partners, which is a problem in general but was especially so at the Academy. After Jake and Rosa became JakeAndRosa, they started partnering up in order to combat the rampant idiocy that seemed to be permanently embedded in other recruits’ genetic code.

This is a thing they actually said once, when their class went drinking after a simulation. Well, what they really said was that Brandon Parker was born a fucking idiot and then Rosa started talking about how she was going to rip off everyone’s arms and feed it to them because none of them could tell their heads from their asses, and then Jake and Rosa got a shot glass thrown at their heads and had to leave the bar. For this reason and many others, Jake and Rosa did not have many friends at the Academy, which left them ample opportunity to pair up even more.

Like many other major parts of their lives together,the details were hashed out over two bottles of their local’s finest Smirnoff.

“You just gotta trust me, Rosa” Jake mumbled over the lip of the bottle. “I know what I’m doing....I’ve watched every Die Hard ever which clearly prepared me to be the most amazing cop in the history of the universe.”

Rosa stole the bottle and drank. “And what if your plan is bad, dummy?”

Jake considered it, tapping his fingers against the surface of the table. “I’ll do something...something horrible. What’s the worst possible thing I could do for being wrong?”

“I could shoot you.” Jake made a face. “I don’t know, I could beat you up. I could kick you in the dick. I could break your arm. I could take off your arms...”

“Tsk tsk Ms. Diaz,” Jake interjected. “So Violent!”

She continued as if he’d never spoken, toning down the gore for him. She took another sip.

“Physical exercise,” she said. “Pushups.”

He agreed enthusiastically, taking the bottle and waving it around. “And not just push ups, Rosa. What if we had to do a bunch of them...like...a thousand! Wait. Can I even do a thousand pushups?”

Rosa smirked. “Probably shouldn’t be wrong then.”

And he hasn’t been, not until today. 1,000 Push Ups has gotten them through shoot-out simulations at the Academy and productions of Swan Lake. Rosa tried Ethiopian food from that restaurant Jake found on patrol. Jake went to a 1940s Film Festival around the corner from where he assumed Rosa lived.

1,000 Push Ups is the rhythm they fall into while walking shoulder to shoulder down the street, the way they hold fire extinguishers to propel them across the room in an office chair. It’s Jake knowing when to step back and let Rosa’s violent imagination take over an interrogation, and Rosa remembering that sometimes Jake’s smile gains the same results.

They trust each other, and 1,000 Push Ups is a way to remember that. It’s a guarantee against at least one type of moving part and a rock solid foundation that lets the primary focus on everything they need to solve the case at hand.

Jake winces, and not from the ache in his shoulders, either.

He remembers the look on Rosa’s face when he first tried to call off their promise, that brief hint of betrayal he saw in her eyes before she ruthlessly repressed it. She shouldn’t have had to do that, they weren’t supposed to be like that. Jake’s mind starts racing, as he recalls exactly how she looked at him, exactly what he had said to put that look on her face. He does 15 push ups.

 _This is it_ , a voice in the back of his mind whispers. It sounds suspiciously like the Vulture. _You really fucked it up this time Peralta, and Rosa’s finally going to kick you to the curb because you’re a selfish asshole._

He does 20 push ups, trying to flush the guilt and anxiety out of his veins. His brain is getting hazy as he starts running through scenarios: tomorrow without Rosa, the day after without their shared lunch break, the next Thursday without vodka and the Lion King.

It’s Thursday, he remembers dimly. It has been for 3 hours.

Officer Peters calls out that he’s reached 500, and Jake sends a smile their way in acknowledgment of the brain numbing work they’re doing. They smile back, eyes not moving from Jake’s shoulders. Okay then, back to Rosa.

Rosa, who has finally started looking at him. He raises his head a little, attempting to show that he can probably have a conversation while doing the pushups.

“You’re doing 1,000 push ups,” is the first thing she says.

“Well duh,” he moves his shoulders to suggest a shrug. “I promised, didn’t I?”

She smiles a little. “Yeah.”

Jake considers his options, realizes that this is probably his one shot to apologize without having to worry about her hitting him before walking out of the conversation (also his life).

“Hey. I just wanted to say that I’m, you know...” Jake does a couple more push ups. “I’m sorry that I tried to call off 1,000 Push Ups.” She stares at him. He elaborates. “I just kind of...lost my head a little.”

She snorts. “No kidding, dum-dum. You let the Pontiac Bandit escape, and arrested his hair dresser.” She frowns. “We looked stupid.”

He sighs, because he knows there’s nothing more Rosa hates than looking stupid, how much she hates it in other people. The only thing she handles worse is betrayal, which he kind of covered today too. “I know, and I’m sorry. I should have listened to you, especially because I was so focused on the Bandit. I should have trusted that you knew what you were doing.” He tries to remember what was going on his head earlier, and can’t come up with anything other than _Bandit Pontiac Bandit Close So Close Sooo Close_. He lowers his head, and focuses on doing 30 more pushups.

Rosa’s staring at him again, watching as he does the reps. Her face is a little softer when he looks up at her. He’s about to apologize again when she speaks.

“It’s okay, Jake,” she says. “You’re doing the push ups.” He nods, a new warmth flooding through his veins as he grins at her. He does a couple one handed, making a face and grunting when he almost collapses.

Rosa smiles. “Just don’t do it again, okay?”

“I won’t,” he promises. He doesn’t think he’s ever meant something as much as he does right now. “A thousand push ups that I won’t.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's part two! I'm actually really nervous about the 1000 push ups scene bc. i feel like we all have our own idea for how it all started, and i thought about it actually being some big event, but at the same time I feel like kind of an organic creation where they were like "wow we luv each other but we keep butting heads wat do we do" "1000 PUSHUPS!!!"felt more Jake&Rosa mutual disasters you know? Anyways, if you have any comments about characterization or criticism or anything at all comment below and we will fall apart together!!! Thanks for all the responses to the last fic I'm super happy we all love this relationship so much bc their friendship is literally my life and soul.


	3. part three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake and Rosa are friends, even when they haven't seen each other in three months.

Rosa doesn’t talk about the six months Jake was gone. She sneaks into his apartment on Thursdays, and then Mondays, and suddenly she’s stopping by his place everyday after work for minutes, hours. Sometimes she doesn’t do anything but place her keys on the side table before walking out. Sometimes she sleeps on the floor next to the sofa, covering herself in that blanket she now knows was from Gina.

She drinks a lot of Smirnoff. She watches all of the Disney princess movies. She buys mac and cheese and tomato soup. Everyone in the Nine-Nine changes in the absence of Jake, but it's not that simple for Rosa. Jake’s been her friend for ten years, her only friend for most of that time. She’s gotten better with letting people in, so she has some people to talk to: Amy has her back, and Gina knows how Jake clutters up every part of your existence better than anyone else alive. Neither of them know exactly what to do now that they can see the floor again, a lifetime later.

Rosa and everyone else promised not to contact Jake while he was undercover, and she knows why, she really does. He needs to focus on the case at hand, needs to ingratiate himself with some of the worst types of people this city has to offer. Rosa still can’t wrap her mind around that, how Jake Peralta of all people has managed to join the mob. Once, Amy realizes that going undercover means that Jake will have to actually be a member of the mob -- that he’ll have to walk and talk and act like them. It sends Amy into a panic attack that has Rosa kneeling in front of her on the bathroom floor and taking overly exaggerated breaths to show Amy how to regulate her breathing, how to get oxygen back to her brain so she doesn’t pass out. Rosa isn’t sure, but she thinks Jake usually helps Amy through her anxiety, though she doesn’t seem to remember them happening all that often while he was still here.

“He used to get panic attacks when he was a kid,” Amy gasps. “After...after his dad.”

Rosa closes her eyes, thinks back to what Jake would do and pulls Amy into her arms. She leans her back against the wall of the bathroom, and keeps her arms around Amy as she regulates her breathing, rocking her when the hyperventilation turns into dry sobs, turns into silent tears running down Rosa’s jacket.

When Amy’s washed her face and the tear stains on Rosa’s pants have dried, they sneak out of the precinct, leaving everything inside. Rosa keeps her keys in her pocket, so she motions Amy into her car. She drives them to Jake’s apartment, unlocks the door and gets the vodka she stocks weekly in his booze cabinet. She watches Amy, notices the way that she knows where the mugs are, and the cookies but completely avoids the alcohol. Watches Amy get a bottle of pills from the top shelf, stare at it before noticing Rosa’s hands gripping the vodka and placing the bottle back in its hiding place. There’s a story in Amy’s actions, but not one Rosa wants to explore right now.

It’s a Thursday. They pass the bottle in silence, and at some point Amy’s leaning her head on Rosa’s shoulder and Rosa’s put in the Beauty and the Beast. They drink until the bottle’s over, open up another and watch Cinderella. Eventually, Amy passes out both from the liquor as well as the panic attack, but Rosa can’t get her mind to stop working. She’s angry, furious even, looking for something to take it out on.

Jake is gone, Amy is panicking, Gina is quiet, Charles is despondent. She’s pissed beyond belief.

She’s also drunk, so when she gets the idea to go visit, her common sense doesn’t shove it down like it usually does. Fortunately, she is just sober enough to take as many precautions as possible when going to endanger a federal investigation and the life of her best friend.

She locks the door, goes to her apartment and squeezes into her tightest, shortest dress. She pins her hair up and puts on a blonde wig, with wavy locks that reach her mid back. She slathers on makeup: dark eyeshadow, blush and bright lipstick. Glitter everywhere. She practices smiling in the mirror, giggles a few times and hunts for her tallest pair of heels.

There’s a bar that she knows is frequented by the Ianucchis, Leo in particular has garnered quite a reputation for his generous patronage. Plus, it's Thursday. She has a good feeling. She drives, parking her car a block away from the bar and hiding a knife in the garter she always wears with this dress. She walks in, adding a sway to her hips and thrusting out her boobs when she looks at the bouncer. She smirks in a way she knows will bring a man to his knees and walks in without another word.

She looks around, stomach sinking as she realizes how much she’s bet on the outside chance that he’ll be here. She’s about to leave, when she hears it.

“Oy Peralta, look at all this hot ass!” She schools her face, forcing herself not to react as Leo Ianucchi calls at someone across the room. He’s gesturing at the room at large, making obscene faces as he calls out particular aspects he finds attractive in a few lucky women.

She follows his gaze and finds Jake, looking for all the world like he’s been chewed up and spit back out again. His eyes are sunken, ringed in purple and he looks like he’s lost 20 more pounds than he could afford. His hand is tapping out the beat to some song she can’t tell from this far apart, and she recognizes it as a coping mechanism from years ago, something that he’d stopped doing once he made detective. He’s staring out at the distance, eyes glazed as Leo calls out to him over and over again. She knows that look, knows that it means he’s more of a mess than she had feared. This is the moment where, if she was Amy Santiago she would start hyperventilating. If Rosa was honest, she would admit that her breath has started quickening, just a bit. Instead, she hesitates for a second, before shimmying her way across the room and stopping in front of him. Jake glances at her quickly, noting her hair and lipstick and glitter, before dismissing her as just another girl at the club, shaking his head as he tries to move towards the bar. Rosa panics.

“Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world and he chooses to walk into mine,” she mutters. She hopes it's enough, that it triggers the memory of a different bar and an anchor point established through the seams created by their forearms. He turns around, eyes wide.

“Ro--” she grabs him, taking his hand as she marches them onto the dance floor and starts moving, placing both his hands at her hips and linking her arms around his neck. He looks to be on the verge of a nervous collapse so she moves them closer to the middle, where he won’t be seen by the rest of the mob. It’s cramped on the inside and everything smells like cheap perfume, vomit and sweat. She closes her eyes, fitting her head into the crook of his neck as he folds her closer to his body. They stay like that for a few songs, and if his head rests on her shoulder after a few minutes, if she feels a tear or two on her neck as it rolls into her wig, she won’t ever say.

Rosa feels the knot of frustration unravel, the anger bubbling inside of her subsiding as they sway together. She takes a breath, noting that the detergent he uses is the same underneath the terrible new cologne, and tries to get a sense of how Jake’s doing.

“Not great,” he mumbles into her collarbone. He always knows what she’s thinking. “The mafia’s really loud. Everything hurts, all the time.”

He’s anxious then, and depressed.

“Anything I can do?” Legally, she can’t, but things like the law matter very little when it comes to Jake.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” He sounds a little awed, like he still can’t believe it. That makes two of them.

“It’s Thursday, Jake, and you’ve been skipping out on me.” She tries for some humor. “Can’t let you get away with that.”

He laughs, and the sound is horrible, as if his laughter was trapped in the rain and left outside to rust, but it makes her smile for the first time since he left.

“How’s everyone doing,” he asks. There’s a hint of desperation in his voice, starvation clinging to the vowels as he tightens his grip in anticipation for something, anything about the people he cares most about.

“They’re fine.” She’d leave it at that, but she knows Jake needs more. He needs to know that they miss him, that he hasn’t been forgotten. That every morning each of them try to work around the emptiness he leaves and fail just a little harder than the day before. “Holt spends more time in his office. Terry does more paperwork at his desk. Charles hasn’t made desk yogurt in months. Gina doesn’t dance in the evidence locker.” He raises an eyebrow in disbelief, and she nods. “Amy had a panic attack.”

He takes in a breath, eyes widening. “Was she okay? Did you give her the Xanax? Wait where was it, who saw...” She was right then, Jake does know more about Amy’s anxiety than he’d let on. She’ll have to remember to ask him about it, when (if) this all ends.

“I helped her get through it in the bathroom, took her to your apartment.” He looks far too grateful for her comfort. “We drank. Watched some Disney. It was fine.”

He sighs, as if the weight of a world has disappeared from his shoulders. The corners of his lips turn up in a wry smile, full of irony she’d always hoped he’d never have to develop.

“And how are you, Rosa?” If this had been any other time, any other place, he would have added something funny to take the pressure off of the question, something to deflect the seriousness of the emotions involved. But right now, they’re dancing in the middle of a club known mainly for its affiliations with the mafia, and the both of them are falling apart in their own unique ways.

She keeps it simple. “I miss you.” He closes his eyes before untangling himself from her and walking to the bar. He flaps his hand, motions for her to stay in the throng while he picks something up and heads back. When she can see all of him again, not blocked by the gyrating bodies in the strobe lights, he’s holding two shot glasses full of a clear substance.

It’s vodka, Smirnoff if she wanted to be precise.

“It’s not enough to get you drunk,” he shouts over the music. “But....”

“It’s tradition,” she finishes. He grins, smiling with his eyes as well as his mouth for the first time that night. They throw back the liquor, shoving the glasses into the hands of a couple making their way off of the dance floor. She puts her hands around his waist, hooking her chin on his shoulder as he holds her close.

Rosa knows she has to go soon, can picture the way she’ll have to kiss his lips to prove to the watching mafia men that they were more than a pair of friends trying to navigate the space between them. She knows that she’ll have to leave him to hell, doesn’t really know how she’ll be able to turn away and go to work knowing how miserable he is. But for now, she can offer him the eye of his hurricane: a moment of peace inside of a storm destined to destroy.

She can only hope that it’s enough to get him through.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this got really long, so instead of two shorter scenes theres this today and then another one tomorrow! or day after! or day after that idk. im updating this one and the jake/amy one simultaneously so there'll probably be an update for that one tomorrow tbh bc i have like 2 parts written in advance. anyways, no one cares about posting schedules. Thank you for all the feedback I've been getting: it really really means a lot to me that you like my interpretation of this super awesome friendship. I hope you like this installment as much as you've liked the last two!


	4. part four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake Peralta and Rosa Diaz might actually be family, now. It depends on who you ask.

After Amy and Jake (finally) get together, after all the drama with Holt and the Vulture settles down...... _after_ , Jake and Rosa get back into their routine.

It’s been a wild, emotionally taxing year for them both. Relationships have never been their strong spot, and now they’ve both found themselves in long term, satisfying ones that both are certain they will find a way to screw up.

Instead of facing these fears, they spend a lot of time at Jake’s place, fine tuning their dinner making abilities to wow their significant others and watching Parks and Recreation. Jake thinks that if they were anyone else these sessions would involve hair braiding and positive affirmations and eventually a belief in their own ability to function as equal partners in a romantic couple. Since they’re just themselves, they haven’t even spoken about Marcus and Amy.

  
Jake doesn’t really know what to think of Marcus: he likes him of course, thinks he’s great both as a person and as Rosa’s boyfriend. It’s just weird to think that one day Rosa might take Marcus to Diaz family events, instead of Jake. He kind of gets the feeling that Rosa feels the same way about Amy.

Amy knows about Thursdays, because she’s a detective and also his partner. She’s never asked about it, but nods in understanding when he refuses to go out on Thursdays, even if Rosa doesn’t have plans to come over.

Jake and Rosa have come a long way since that first drink, but at the same time they really haven’t. Jake doesn’t know what he would do without her, doesn’t have the first idea how to survive in a universe where he isn’t able to cover them both with a blanket while they watch Amy Poehler together. There’s something about her that makes him feel safe: she found him at a time when he had very few people willing to stay, and for some reason hasn’t left yet. He trusts her, trusts her loyalty and her judgement more than anyone else he knows.

She’s seen him at his worst, and given him the sanctuary he needed to work on becoming his best. Rosa’s never differentiated between Jake who bounces off walls and Jake who can’t get out of bed; she redirects him towards a difficult case just as easily as she can direct every aspect of his morning routine so that he doesn’t have to. Jake’s never had to put on a show for her, never had to pretend that he’s anything but himself. He doesn’t really have to pretend for anyone anymore, but he’ll never forget that Rosa was there first.

“Hey, Mama said you haven’t responded to the evite about Isabel’s birthday on Saturday.” She nudges him with her knee, smirking. “I told her you probably lost it. What are you getting Isabel?”

He blinks, opening his mouth a couple times. He’s nervous for some reason, and he’s never nervous with Rosa, not really.

“I just...don’t you, um, want to go with Marcus?” He’s trying to be understanding about boundaries, give Rosa and Marcus their space to establish themselves as a couple in the Diaz family without having Jake hover awkwardly in the background.

She frowns. “Isabel didn’t invite Marcus. She invited you.” She looks like she wants to say something further, but bites her lip. She notices the way he’s tapping his left foot and gets side tracked, something he would have realized if he hadn’t been so absorbed in figuring out how many days he had left before he was never invited to Isabel Diaz’s birthday parties again. He’d have to make her present a big one, if it was going to be her her last. Maybe Rosa will let him mail a package, even if he can’t go to the party.

Suddenly, Rosa exhales, and takes his hand. He stares, because they still don’t really touch each other very much: more than Rosa touches her other friends certainly, but they don’t hold hands. He moves his fingers instinctively, then freezes again when she twines their fingers together. She can’t meet his eyes, but glares at their hands, tracing the superheroes on the blanket beneath them.

“Jake. You weren’t...supposed to be Marcus. My boyfriend. Never. You were...you are my friend. You know this.” It takes her a couple minutes to get this out, as she swallows and flexes her fingers in his grip. He tries to interrupt when she chokes up, offers her as many outs as she might need but Rosa crushes his fingers before finishing. “You’re...you’re family. No matter what. Forever.”

She looks up at him, narrows her eyes. “Dummy.”

He grins at her, squeezes her hand as hard as he can (not at all compared to Rosa) before he hugs her, all of the tension he’d hidden inside his skeleton bleeding out of his joints. She stiffens for a second before she tentatively places her arms around him too. Its funny, but they’ve always been good at physical contact when it's used as comfort. Here in this moment, when all he wants to do is express the happiness he feels in his toes and the back of his throat, here they have trouble.

That’s fine, they’re always going to be Jake Peralta and Rosa Diaz: emotional lunkheads before anything else.

He’s just about to release her when she mumbles something into his shirt, the palms of her hands clenching into fists as she pulls him back. He blinks in shock, before asking her to repeat what she said, stroking her back in apology for not catching it the first time.

“I broke up with Marcus.” She says it quickly and lets go, scoots to the side of the sofa and stares pointedly at the tv screen, as if the freeze frame is the most interesting thing she’ll ever have the honor of seeing in her entire life. While she’s ignoring him, he takes the opportunity to get a good look at her for once, without having to justify why he’s being weird like that or defending his general person. Hopefully, he’ll find a clue to tell him how he’s supposed to react.

Rosa’s hair is untied like it always is, her eyeliner is thick and dangerous. Now that he’s looking for it, he can see the slight quiver in her lips, the restlessness of her fingers. She called him family, and Rosa’s only ever opened up like that after emotional upheaval. She’s picking at his  (her) sweatpants now, trying to remove a stray thread from the seam line in a poor attempt to avoid eye contact. He sighs. Rosa Diaz is a miracle wrapped in an enigma clothed in his high school PE uniform, and for some reason she calls him her friend.

Rosa Diaz, who has apparently just broken up with her first long term relationship. Jake’s never had to do this sort of thing before, never really thought he’d be in this position. But he’s her friend, family even, and so he decides to go with his instincts.

He pulls out the Smirnoff from the liquor cabinet and hands it to her, watching as she finishes off a quarter of the vodka in one go. The tv screen is frozen on an image of Leslie and Ben, and he frowns. Parks and Rec is good, but this calls for something a little extra. Jake moves to his collection, heading to the back row to find the set of disks Rosa’s crammed in the very very corner.

He pulls out the first season of Gilmore Girls, puts the disk into the DVD player and moves to sit next to Rosa on the couch, pointedly brushing up against her knee but not creating any other points of contact.

There’s a letter for Rosa in the will the Captain forced him to write that contains only one line. Rosa’s always said that she’d finish a bunch of arguments on her deathbed, so he figured that telling her he loves her was kind of the same thing. He doesn’t want to die without making sure that she knows how much he cares about her, how glad he is that she let him have the honor of watching as she took the universe by storm. The only other venue even remotely acceptable for a confession like that is right before she walks down the aisle, while he’s reassuring her that yes she really is in love with her fiance, and that she is absolutely making the right choice. She’ll be freaking out quietly and stoically as always, but he’ll know, and he’ll tell her everything she needs to calm down even if she’d never think to admit she was nervous.

Also, he’s going to make sure everything in the makeup room is shatterproof, but all of this is just speculation, and kind of hinges on a groom. Or a bride, now that he thinks about it. Rosa Diaz was never one to be chained by gender in her search for the perfect shape of an ass, and now its legal and everything.

Rosa snorts, and he notices suddenly that she’s moved closer to him, has pressed her side into his, coaxed his arm into lifting as she fits herself into the grooves of his body. He grabs the blanket and covers them both, placing the half-full bottle of vodka on the floor next to his foot. He’s probably going to trip over it at some point, but the lazy warmth flowing between them is overpowering the hint of common sense he’s grown into.

He’ll clean up the mess, he supposes. Rosa will probably help.

In the end, Jake isn’t exactly sure what their places will be in each others’ lives from now on: he has Amy, and eventually Rosa will find someone who loves her almost as much as Jake does, but romantic stylez. Either way, Rosa Diaz is his leather clad godmother from hell, and they spend Thursdays drinking cheap vodka from the same bottle. Rosa says they’re family, and Jake thinks that’s the best definition for the way they’ve been rubbing elbows against each other lives. He guesses that she'd know best: most of what he knows about family is something he’s learned from Rosa herself.

He grabs her hand with the one not wrapped around her shoulder and kisses the top of her head. She smiles against his shirt, and knows that he can feel it.

Life for them is often so hard, full of complications they don’t understand, most of which they’d rather avoid. This though, this simple feeling they find inside of silences and liquor bottles and blankets, this is easy. This is Rosa and Jake, and the world contained within the four walls of a Thursday night.

They breathe together, and for a moment everything is okay.

Actually, in that one moment, Jake thinks that everything is perfect.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! Thank you to everybody who's read this, I've been blown away by all the feedback this has gotten! If you haven't figured it out I love Rosa and Jake's friendship, so this is probably not going to be the last fic about them that I write. As always, I love reading your thoughts on this so if you agree or disagree or just want to fangirl over how amazing these two are leave a comment below and I'll probably fall to pieces in my reply. I hope you liked this last installment, and the story in general!


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